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Untoward, like deflowering Lenora on his coachman’s bed? He gave himself a subtle shake.

“A marital alliance is out of the question,” he said to deflect Blackwell’s too interested attention. “Not that I’d want one.”

“What do you think their secret is?” Blackwell asked.

Asquith shrugged. “Well, Eliza is a firebrand. Cassie is sweet. Nettie has a bright and curious mind. And Millie...”

All the tiny pearl fastenings in the county, indeed.

Millie was likely unaware those buttons presented an enticing challenge to any rake that glanced her way.

“Well,” he sighed, “clearly every man present has taken note of that dress. Every man other than myself, that is. Millie has been like a hoydenish little sister to me.”

“You see?” Neville said to Blackwell. “If he fears anything, it’s failing to marry off his wards in a timely fashion.”

The conversation meandered back to the Wainwrights’ early days in London. Then, Blackwell cocked his head and frowned.

“Neville, am I mistaken, or did Asquith forget to mention Miss Lenora when describing the Misses Wainwright?”

“Lenora,” Asquith said under his breath. I could never forget Lenora.

“Asquith,” Blackwell said with an edge of disappointment. “Are you avoiding Lenora in other ways, too? Have you, perhaps, been using us as a shield?”

Of course I have.

“How lovely Millie looks...” Asquith changed the subject. He cast about for some memory significant enough to turn the subject from Lenora. “...Hard to believe she’s the same cheeky chit that stole my breeches so she could practice riding astride.”

Just as he’d suspected, Neville recoiled as if someone had smacked him, drawing Blackwell’s attention.

Poor addle-pated, lovesick fool. Asquith understood.

“Breeches, you say?” Blackwell whistled low. “Can’t imagine. Though, I must admit, she is the most dashing and statuesque of this year’s crop. My interest, of course, is purely academic. I’ve no taste for scandal, and ten to one Miss Millicent will embroil herself in one before the Season is done.”

Asquith flashed him a glance. “Don’t make that bet.”

“Shame on you,” Neville snapped. “Especially you, Asquith. Her protection is your responsibility. If you’re worried, you should be devising a plan to keep her safe.”

A tremor ran through his injured hand. Asquith had cared for the Wainwrights over numerous years. He’d worried. He’d planned. He’d sacrificed.

And he’d lost his heart.

Briefly, Asquith closed his eyes. He experienced Neville’s censure as pain, but Neville was not to blame. Nor was Lenora.

He was his own enemy.

But he would find a way to make things right with Lenora. He’d mended a rupture once. He could do so again.

Neville’s gaze moved to Blackwell. “And you, at the very least, should be refraining from gossiping about your good friend’s wards.”

Blackwell feigned innocence. “If you’re so keen to protect Millie, why don’t you volunteer?”

“Me?” Neville flushed. “I have neither feeling nor responsibility for any of the Misses Wainwright, especially Miss Millicent.”

“Especially,” Blackwell repeated.

Neville stiffened. “I was merely pointing out that the young ladies are in want of protection.”

“I beg your pardon.” Asquith couldn’t let that slide, too. “After last Season’s Almack’s catastrophe, I made sure Harbury at least pretended to court Cassie, though I had to threaten him to do so. I shudder to think what further misadventures lie in store for me. Then again...” He turned a speculative gaze on Neville. “Blackwell might have a point.”